


train rides up west

by kittaeten (theflyjar)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Boys In Love, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Gentle Kissing, Gentleness, Historical References, M/M, Reading, Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 00:09:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17233742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theflyjar/pseuds/kittaeten
Summary: The train ride is a sequence of moments brimmed full with love, peaceful and sincere.





	train rides up west

**Author's Note:**

> kind of historical, but not explicitly so... based on the song ‘march’ by basement
> 
> this is my first taeten fic, i hope you like it!
> 
> \- unedited

The door of Ten’s compartment rattles gently as the train shifts on the tracks, bumping over every peak and trough years of wear have beat into the metal rails. He barely notices it, not with his nose buried in a book to read the words and be absorbed into faraway lands.

He’s not a dreamer, not by nature. He’s someone who handles what he’s given with care and hopes to nurture it. He has been gifted with the thirst for knowledge, to want to absorb everything into his brain and permeate there until he’s saturated with well-tenured thoughts. It helps that his trains back west, to his second home, are lengthy and eat into hours and hours of a single day.

He sits hunched over the pages in a tiny corner of his little room in the first class carriage. He usually thinks, given his size, stature, and sitting position, the whole compartment is wasted on him but it’s the quiet he likes. Out amongst the standard seats, there’s noise and laughter, which Ten adores when he’s searching for company. But, trains are for solitude and reading. Trains are spent alone in compartments with rattling doors and the contents of Ten’s carry-on bag sprawled haphazardly across the top of a table.

This train ride, however, is different.

It is not spent in solitude.

Taeyong lays across the seats opposite, fast asleep with a lax expression and hair that falls onto his brow. He looks handsome as the evening light drifts in through the window, flickering a shadow puppet play of leaves and trees across Taeyong’s parted lips. He’s snoring lightly, just enough to cover what noise is made by the door and Ten searches for a pencil on his desk. He tries to start a scribble of Taeyong in the margins of his book, handsome and striking in likeness as he contours the closed eyelids of the man he loves.

The drawing is finished and long gone, lost back in the plethora of word covered pages Ten’s devoured, when Taeyong wakes. He stretches and yawns like a feline, licking his slightly dry lips and searching for the sight of Ten on the other side of the table.

“How long did I sleep?” Taeyong asks, really only enquiring to see how much longer is left of the journey.

With a glance at his wrist watch, Ten replies, “We aren’t even halfway yet. Go back to sleep and I’ll wake you when we’re closer.”

Taeyong groans but doesn’t complain, shrugging his shoulders before yawning once more.

“I’m up now, I better stay up if I want to sleep tonight.”

Taeyong reaches out and picks up one of the books Ten hasn’t had the change to read, the spine of the book resting on his sternum and a single hand propping the pages open as he begins to meander through the story.

That’s the perfect thing about Taeyong, for Ten, is that he is willing to be the silent companion. He does not need to talk endlessly just to simply fill silence as if silence should never exist at all. He doesn’t impede on the mental solitude Ten craves, yet fulfils all the physical companionship Ten needs on these long train journeys.

Unlike Ten, Taeyong tires of the plot line as soon as he’s worked out how the next sequence of events will configure themselves. Where Ten searches for the satisfaction that his speculations for the characters are right, Taeyong loses the stimulation of newness and bores of it entirely. Taeyong stands and leaves the compartment, probably to find the carriage toilet and relieve himself. He returns promptly, though, informing Ten that a man with the trolley of sweets and drinks is on his way down. Ten makes for his pocket, searching for money, but Taeyong blocks the door of the carriage and speaks to the man with the trolley quietly.

He turns back with tea and two golden steamed cakes, which are still warm when Ten is handed one, and Ten punches his lips up for a moment.

“I could have bought my own.”

“You bought the tickets and books,” Taeyong reminds him, taking a seat next to where Ten’s still curled up against the window edge. “It’s only fair I buy the foods, yes? This trip is for the both of us to enjoy, let me spoil you too.”

Ten lets the subject go, which is all he can do when Taeyong reaches out to hold his hand loosely on the worn out seat of the compartment’s cushioned bench. The two of them are better in the silence, when all they have is touch and sight to guide them to one another, their souls and spirits dancing around in their eyes as love ebbs in around them. Golden hour makes the moment all the more spectacular, soaking their skin in shades of honey and refracting from their eyes to show a multitude of sparkling flecks and hues. Ten delights in those moments. They sear their presences into his brain until he’s sure it’s branded in behind his eyes as a permanent reminder of something beautiful. Something wholly ephemeral yet everlasting. A snapshot of a time he’d wish he could live in forever.

With the taste of sweet cakes on their lips, they kiss and fumble their fingers along the other’s jaw. Although, their smiles make it difficult to keep their lips meeting in another other than gentle brushes, but neither of them seem to mind. Those kisses, the ones that are filled with so much joy that they’re barely even there, those are their favourites. Taeyong admitted as such months prior, back when their relationship was still so fresh that it crackled between them, and Ten’s grown to love them. He adores how much affection he feels and, equally so, how much he can give back.

Ten washes the kiss down with his tea, pretending the warm fluid in his stomach is liquid love that’ll osmose into his bloodstream and saturate his cheeks with blush. Taeyong watches him, in that way he does, far more intensely than Ten feels he’s ever been looked at before.

The rattling of the compartment door on that train travelling west; books piled up on the table; and carry-on bags stowed away above their heads; they keep them orbiting around one another as much as they keep them separated from the crowds making the same journey. They don’t have to share these instances with anyone else. It’s them with their fingers overlapping between them, Ten reading tales of adventure and intrigue aloud as he rests on Taeyong’s thighs, Taeyong’s spare hand drawing swirled patterns on the flushed flesh of Ten’s cheeks. The train ride is a sequence of moments brimmed full with love, peaceful and sincere.

Ten’s not a dreamer, but he doesn’t think he could have ever of dreamt up a love like this.


End file.
